England bowled their way back into the fourth Test in the afternoon. Another massive crowd, more than 78,000, had seen the rest of the England innings blown away first thing like so much chaff in the wind, Mitchell Johnson finishing with another five-wicket haul. The question though was their 255, so diligently acquired, the bulk of it anyway, on the first day, and their highest first-innings score of the series, a workable total.

By the close, they knew most of the answer, for when Peter Siddle chipped the last ball of the day to cover without scoring, the board read 164 for 9, still 91 runs adrift, of which Chris Rogers – hit a nasty blow on the head by Stuart Broad when 16 that required lengthy treatment – made 61 before he was frustrated out by the same dry-bowling tactics his own team have employed so well.

The shard in the flesh, Brad Haddin, was still there on 43, with work to do. Four times in this series Australia have been in some degree of strife in the first innings only for the last five wickets to produce, in Brisbane, Adelaide and Perth, a further 195, 313, and 242 runs respectively. Each time, the rearguard has been led by Haddin, who despite the bowling charisma and success of Johnson, must surely be the leading candidate for player of the series. Now he was trying to do it again, although for once lacking the support.

Siddle aside, he had also lost Johnson, who had been complicit in some of the recoveries, but now, having been dropped at short extra cover by Jimmy Anderson when on two, then pulled the same bowler, Tim Bresnan, to the same fielder, this time at midwicket. Next Ryan Harris poked a catch to short leg from a short ball from Broad, which, as Alastair Cook at that very moment had just placed Joe Root in position, represented excellent captaincy.

Haddin, in these circumstances, chances his arm, sometimes pushing his luck, and with it the field back into more defensive positions. Here he cracked his boundaries, three of them in four balls off Anderson, then lofted Ben Stokes over long on for six, so that with one bound, or several anyway, he at least was free. Only when he had 35 and Monty Panesar beat his forward prod to rap him on the pad was he troubled. The appeal was vehement, and Aleem Dar gave him out lbw. It looked dead but Haddin reviewed it and survived by the merest smidgeon.

It was a fine effort from the England seamers, finally sticking to their plans of a kind employed successfully by Australia in this series and by themselves in this country three years ago. The game, with both bat and ball, on pitches that do not offer much to the bowler, is one of patience, with rigid application of line and length and considerable restraint with the bat unless the batsman is prepared to operate on a high risk basis. The fact that Australia who have generally rattled along at a merry rate this series have been restricted to not even two and a half runs per over, and that 21 of the 73 overs delivered by England have been maidens, tells the story.

It also places into rather more perspective the massive display of self-control exhibited by Kevin Pietersen on the first day, and that shown by Rogers over what was only half an hour less. Of 21 batsmen to get to the crease after two days, only this pair had managed even a half century. Even so, there was something unedifying, bordering on disrespectful by the manner in which David Warner approached his innings, as if it were nothing more than a beer match. The bat was flung pretty much at anything within reach, and it came as no surprise when he top edged high to give Jonny Bairstow a first Test catch as wicketkeeper. Dead rubber it may be, but you do not treat international matches with that sort of disdain.

Watson too was charitable, driving hard and edging Ben Stokes. The key wicket went to Anderson, who seduced Michael Clarke into misjudging the line, and pegging back his off-stump as he offered no stroke. From then on, England chipped away, with catches held, the fielding sharp and full of enthusiasm.

England's morning was not quite as full of roses. With Pietersen in residence, four wickets in hand, and the possibility of some support at the other end, there was a chance that they might be able to bump up the score from 226 for six to something closer to 300 or even beyond. It would though require selectivity on the part of Pietersen, and, with the second new ball still hard and Johnson fresh, some application and fortitude from the others. We got neither.

After Pietersen had made his intentions clear by smearing Harris's first delivery of the day through point, Johnson detonated Bresnan with his opening delivery, and disposed of Pietersen with his fourth. The third had been a disconcerting, rapid headhunter that the batsman did well to avoid. Perhaps he expected something short for the next as well, and set himself to dispose of it in malicious fashion.

Instead it was full and the batsman, committed to the attacking shot, heaved mightily across the line and saw his wicket dismantled. It looked, and indeed was horrible. As Pietersen trudged off into the dressing room tunnel he passed, on either side, advertising signs, for a drink driving campaign: You Bloody Idiot. Nothing more needed to be said.